


A Study in In-Laws

by totalizzyness



Series: BondLock [5]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Sherlock (TV), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Bondlock, Humor, M/M, frank discussions about sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-09
Updated: 2012-12-09
Packaged: 2017-11-20 16:17:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/totalizzyness/pseuds/totalizzyness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A break-in forces Q and Bond to move in with Sherlock temporarily. Bond isn't sure how he'll cope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Study in In-Laws

**Author's Note:**

> Again, profuse apologies for any character massacring I do in regards to Sherlock characters.  
> Un-beta'd. All the numerous mistakes are my own.

Bond and Q had just arrived home from a long, dull day of paperwork, eager to unwind on the sofa with a stiff drink and crap telly. Bond was fishing the keys from his pocket when Q put a hand on his arm, pointing to the lock.

"Someone's been here," he murmured, pulling his phone from his pocket. Bond squinted at the lock, noticing a few faint scratches around the keyhole, barely noticeable. Q clearly had Sherlock's ability to see things others couldn't.

"Anyone inside?"

Q shook his head. "Whoever it was has gone."  
  
Bond nodded, watching his boyfriend continue to tap at his phone. "What are you doing?"

"Getting someone to take a look, whoever it was clearly knows what they were doing."

"So we're not even going inside?"

"Can't tamper with evidence."

Bond let out a loud sigh and slumped against the wall opposite; Q shot him a quick smile and pocketed his phone. He stepped up to Bond, slipping his arms up around his neck.

"I'm sure it'll be fine. Just need to make sure. You're a target, James; as am I, this was bound to happen at some point."

"I just want to put my feet up, and drink heavily."

"Soon. Safety first."

They were waiting for fifteen minutes until there were footsteps coming up the stairs. Bond looked over to the source, groaning and dropping his head back against the wall. Q smirked, stepping away from his lover.  
  
"Thank you for coming, Sherlock" Q smiled, holding out his keys. The older Holmes rolled his eyes, taking the keys.

"I owed you a favour, Felix. Besides, John wouldn't allow me to not help."

Q smiled over at John, who was apologising to Bond for anything Sherlock may say. Sherlock quickly twisted the key in the lock and pushed the door open. Pulling his magnifying glass out, he cautiously stepped in, looking around at everything.

"You could have tidied up a bit, little brother," Sherlock grumbled, fiddling with things. Q rolled his eyes, following Sherlock inside. Bond waited in the corridor with John, choosing to spend as little time in Sherlock's company as possible.

"We lead busy lives, Sherlock, not much time to clean."

"Your intruder is a red-head. Male, probably middle-aged," Sherlock muttered, holding up a hair he'd plucked from the back of the sofa. "With this mess it's hard to tell what was disturbed."

Q pointed to the bookshelf. "I always keep my books in order."  
  
Sherlock smirked, gliding over and staring intently. "Of course. You and Mycroft always had a penchant for keeping your books nice and tidy."

"Books are knowledge, Sherlock."

"To you perhaps."

Sherlock continued gliding around the room muttering, shifting things and holding up potential evidence. Q sat patiently in his armchair, Mayhew purring on his lap.

"You don't have any swabs, do you?"

Sherlock pulled one wordlessly from his coat pocket, tossing it to his younger brother. Q uncapped it and held up Mayhew's paw, squinting at the tinge of red on his claws.

"Mayhew's not normally violent, but it seems he got a swipe at someone," he mumbled, swiping the cotton-bud under the cat's claws.

"It wasn't a deep cut, there's no traces of blood anywhere else in the flat."

"Conclusions?"

"Whoever it was will be back. I suggest you alert whoever you need to alert and don't return for some time."

Q nodded, standing up and passing the swab to Sherlock. "Very well. You have room at yours, don't you?"  
  
Sherlock sighed. "Felix-"

"James and I shall collect our things. Thank you."

Sherlock began spluttering when Mayhew was pressed into his arms, watching as Q began packing some things up, calling Bond inside. John smirked when he saw Sherlock lost for words, holding a fat cat.

"What's the verdict?"

"Intruder will be back; we'll set something up to have them found, meanwhile we're staying with my brother," Q smirked.

"No, Felix! I shan't allow it. There's simply no room! Stay with Mycroft! Stay at a hotel!"

John hit Sherlock's arm, effectively shutting him up. "Of course we're taking them in, Sherlock! This is your brother!"

"Precisely the reason he's not staying!"

"I agree with Sherlock, we can't stay with them," Bond said, folding his arms over his chest. Q and John both rolled their eyes.

"We're going-"

"They're staying."

Bond and Sherlock opened their mouths to argue but were promptly shut up by a stern look from their respective lover.  
  
“The cat’s not coming,” Sherlock finally announced, a smug look on his face. Q rolled his eyes, ushering Bond to the bedroom to pack some things.  
  
“Of course he’s coming,” John sighed, taking Mayhew from Sherlock’s arms. “And you’re going to have to clean your experiments out of the fridge, and keep them away from the food as much as possible.”  
  
“My brother and his lapdog are not taking over my home.”  
  
“It’s _our_ home, Sherlock. And they’re guests. They won’t be around much, they have full-time jobs.”  
  
Sherlock sighed loudly, folding his arms over his chest, taking another look around his brother’s flat. In the bedroom they could hear Q and Bond bickering about staying.  
  
“I know you’re fully capable of fending off intruders, James, but what if you’re not here? What if they try and get to us another way? It’s just a lot safer to stay with Sherlock.”  
  
“From what I’ve heard from John I really, really don’t want to stay with him. He’ll poison us.”  
  
Q scoffed, sorting the wires from his desk into a case. “Of course he won’t. And if he gets too much I’m sure John will take you to the pub. I’ll make sure he won’t do any of his weird experiments on you.”  
  
“Experiments?!”  
  
“Just finish packing and come on. Mycroft is sending someone over soon to bug the flat.”  
  
“Mycroft?!”  
  
Q rolled his eyes, finally finished. “I told you. Mycroft basically is the British government. You need something doing instantly you call him. As I’m sure you’re aware, he outranks anyone at MI-6.”  
  
Bond let out a loud sigh, folding his suits neatly into his case.  
  
Eventually they had everything they needed; Sherlock and John went ahead in their own taxi with Mayhew and some of their cases, James and Q following with the rest of their belongings, Q keeping a tight hold on his laptop. When they got in Sherlock was curled up on the sofa, pointedly ignoring anyone who tried to talk to him.  
  
“James, you go sit down, I’ll go get everything sorted,” Q smiled, giving Bond a quick peck on his cheek. John smiled meekly at him, Mayhew already comfortable on his knee. Mrs Hudson was puttering around the kitchen making cups of tea.  
  
“Sherlock! Come sort this mess!”  
  
“It’s not mess!” Sherlock snapped. John rolled his eyes, scratching behind Mayhew’s ears until he purred.  
  
“If he won’t sort it just bin it, Mrs Hudson. How many dismembered thumbs can one man need?”  
  
Sherlock jumped from the sofa, glaring at John as he stormed into the kitchen. “Don’t touch anything!”  
  
John chuckled, smirking up at Bond. They fell into another awkward silence, listening to Mayhew purr quietly and Sherlock and Mrs Hudson bicker in the kitchen about what could be thrown away. Q eventually returned downstairs, nipping into the kitchen, grabbing a glass from a cupboard and perching himself on the edge of Bond’s armchair, passing over the glass and a bottle of scotch he’d brought down.  
  
“May as well start now, he’s only going to get worse,” he sighed, stroking a hand through James’ hair. “John, you don’t mind if I tamper with your internet connection, do you? I’m afraid your security’s not strong enough for me to do my work.”  
  
John shrugged. “Go for it.”  
  
“Hang on! You said our connection was perfectly safe!” Sherlock demanded, storming in from the kitchen. Q rolled his eyes.  
  
“Yes, for blogging and googling the effects of injecting salt-water into eyeballs. My work requires something a little more secure.”  
  
“By all means, Felix, draw all the world’s terrorists to my flat.”  
  
“Sherlock you’re being childish again, go play with your thumbs.”  
  
John grinned as he heard Sherlock huff in annoyance and stomp back into the kitchen, muttering about Q taking after Mycroft. “I think I’m going to enjoy you two being here.”  
  
Q smiled and pressed a kiss to the top of Bond’s head before wandering off upstairs again.  
  
By midnight they’d all gotten settled; Sherlock was sulking in the kitchen still, working on one of his experiments; Q was sat at the table on his laptop working, Mayhew on his lap; James and John were sprawled in their armchairs watching whatever crap the TV had in store for them. James was happily buzzed, on his fourth glass of scotch, mellowed by the awful late-night telly, almost forgetting he was currently sharing a flat with Sherlock Holmes. That was, until Sherlock suddenly shrieked from the kitchen and began making a lot of noise. John didn’t seem fazed by it at all, it obviously being a common occurrence. Bond watched with interest as Sherlock glided into the front room, rushing over to the small coffee table and leafing through the pages before pulling one out and rushing back into the kitchen, mumbling things about thumbs and antibodies.  
  
“You get used to that. The best part is when he’s in his mind palace, he won’t talk for hours, sometimes days,” John chuckled. Bond eyed John suspiciously.  
  
“Mind Palace?”  
  
“Oh, don’t ask. Just be thankful it keeps him quiet.”  
  
“Fair enough... I might go to bed, it’s been a long day.”  
  
John nodded, watching out of the corner of his eye as Bond wandered over to Q, encasing him in his arms. Q smiled, turning in his seat and pulled James down for a warm kiss, curling his fingers around the back of his head. They murmured softly to each other, John barely able to make out Q promising to be up soon. They shared another loving kiss before Bond left for bed, and Q returned to his work. John frowned, suddenly noticing the absence of affection in his own relationship, wondering how Sherlock react if on his way to bed John wrapped his arms around him. He either wouldn’t notice or he’d ask John if something was wrong.  
  
“I think James is on to something; living with Sherlock is a full time job,” he said suddenly, pulling himself from his chair. Q looked over and smiled.  
  
“Indeed it is. Goodnight, John.”  
  
“Night Felix.”  
  
Q looked back down at his laptop, and John shuffled into the kitchen, pausing to watch Sherlock flit from his microscope to his tray of dismembered thumbs to the counter where he was noting things down. He smiled meekly, looking down at the thumbs.  
  
“On to a breakthrough?”  
  
“The experiment’s going well, yes. Do you need something?”  
  
“No, just off to bed.”  
  
“But it’s only... twelve thirteen. Are you okay?” Sherlock frowned, checking his watch. John shrugged, stepping closer to Sherlock, cautiously resting his hands on his narrow hips.  
  
“Just tired, long day, work tomorrow. Will you be joining me tonight?”  
  
“Um...”  
  
“I’d like it if you did.”  
  
“Well, I suppose the experiment doesn’t need my constant attention. I’ll join you soon.”  
  
John smiled, raising a hand to stroke through Sherlock’s curls. “Thank you.”  
  
“Goodnight, John.”  
  
“Night Sherlock.”  
  
Sherlock allowed himself to be pulled down into a soft kiss, slowly wrapping his arms around his waist. John smiled even wider when they pulled apart.  
  
“I’ll um... try not to wake you,” Sherlock muttered, stroking his thumbs over John’s waist. John nodded, pressing another quick kiss to his lover’s lips before walking on through to their room. Sherlock stood rooted to the spot, staring at the door John had just disappeared through before marching into the living room.  
  
“Felix.”  
  
“Sherlock.”  
  
“Would you and James refrain from being affectionate towards each other in front of John? You’re making him all touchy-feely.”  
  
Q laughed, quickly glancing over to his brother. “I’m sorry?”  
  
“Your displays of affection are making John jealous. Stop it.”  
  
“Perhaps you should be affectionate towards him instead of telling me off for having a normal relationship.”  
  
“Normal? Normal’s boring.”  
  
“Normal works. Get used to John trying to hug you, Sherlock, because I’m not ever going to stop being affectionate with James.”  
  
“Could you at least contain it to where John can’t see?”  
  
“Nope. Why bother being in love if you can’t show it off?”  
  
“Because it sickens those around you.”  
  
Q rolled his eyes, still tapping away at his laptop. “You’re not moral arbiter, Sherlock. My love sickens you and you alone. Give John a cuddle once in a while and leave me alone.”  
  
Sherlock let out an angry sigh and stomped back into the kitchen. Q smirked to himself, finishing off his work so he could go join Bond in bed.  
  
\--  
  
The next morning, Q and Bond were the first people up, milling around the unfamiliar territory getting ready for work. Bond had already had two unfortunate run-ins with the kitchen, trying desperately to just make a cup of tea and not stumble across an autopsied mouse in a margarine tub. Eventually Q had to make the tea whilst Bond slumped on the sofa reading the morning paper. Surprisingly, Sherlock was the next to rise, letting out a disgruntled snort when he remembered his house was still being invaded. He slumped in his armchair, defiantly changing the TV channel from whatever James was watching. When Bond didn’t react he stumbled into the kitchen, sitting himself by the table to continue his experiments.  
  
“Could you please put your experiments somewhere that people won’t mistake them for everyday kitchen items?” Q sighed, carefully stirring milk into his tea. Sherlock shrugged.  
  
“Meaning?”  
  
“Perhaps a tub labelled ‘autopsied mouse’ and not ‘Flora Spreadable’. That may be a start.”  
  
Sherlock smirked to himself, adjusting the eyepiece of his microscope. Q rolled his eyes, taking the tea through to the living room, sitting himself beside James. Bond smiled, lowering his paper to wrap an arm around Q’s waist.  
  
“This is positively Hell on Earth,” he mumbled, taking his tea. Q laughed, pressing a quick kiss to Bond’s temple.  
  
“You’ll get used to it. Or he’ll get used to it. Either way, it’ll stop bothering you soon enough.”  
  
Bond sighed, taking a quick sip of his tea. “How long until we can go back home?”  
  
“Just be patient. And hurry up, you’ve got to go in ten minutes.”  
  
“And you don’t?”  
  
“Not today. I might work on making Sherlock somewhat more agreeable. Come on, drink your tea.”  
  
When Bond was leaving, Sherlock could see through the gap between the door and wall, as Bond pulled Q into his arms, muttering sweet nothings into his neck. Q smiled and laughed as he let himself be pulled this way and that, let himself be pushed against the wall and kissed thoroughly. Bond finally left, with one final kiss to Q’s palm and a brilliant smile.  
  
“No work today, Felix?” Sherlock asked, when Q wandered into the kitchen to make another cup of tea.  
  
“Nothing I can’t do from here.”  
  
“How wonderful, it’ll just be the two of us.”  
  
“How wonderful indeed. How’re the thumbs?”  
  
“Fascinating.”  
  
Q smirked, quickly making himself and Sherlock a cup of tea, perching himself on the opposite side of the table, looking through Sherlock’s notes. John eventually woke and got himself ready for work, almost dropping his cup of tea when Sherlock appeared behind him and wrapped his arms around his waist. Q chuckled into his tea, pointedly not watching Sherlock try his best to be affectionate. John was overjoyed however, practically melting in Sherlock’s arms, pressing lazy kisses up his neck, humming happily.  
  
When John left, Q smirked at Sherlock, leaning forward against the table. Sherlock rolled his eyes, getting back to his experiments.  
  
“Whatever you’re bursting to say I request you don’t say it.”  
  
“I told you a small amount of affection would go a long way.”  
  
“I said don’t say it.”  
  
Q chuckled, leafing through Sherlock’s notes again. “Did you see how happy John was? How happy a simple cuddle made him?”  
  
“I’m not discussing this with you, Felix.”  
  
“Why not? Who else are you going to discuss it with? Mycroft?”  
  
“Certainly not! I shan’t be discussing it with anyone, because it doesn’t need to be discussed.”  
  
“Sherlock, I know your relationship is your own, and unlike most conventional relationships, but at the end of the day, it’s still just another relationship. John needs things from you. He needs affection, and attention -- and the positive kind, not all attention is good attention, Sherlock. John needs to know he’s appreciated.”  
  
“He knows, Felix. would you kindly remove your nose from my business?”  
  
Q sighed, leaning forward a little more. “Sherlock, when was the last time you told John you were happy to have him in your life? From a purely selfish point of view -- not because of your work, or the fact he’s there for you to experiment on. But because he makes you happy?”  
  
Sherlock looked up from his microscope, scowling at his younger brother. “Felix please.”  
  
“Seriously, Sherlock. Just defrost that heart of yours a little, let John in.”  
  
“Love is dangerous. I thought you knew that.”  
  
“I work for MI-6, James goes and gets himself shot at all over the world, why not throw a little love into this danger-cocktail we’ve got? As for you, since when did you play anything safe?”  
  
“If I gave you some thumbs to analyse, will you please shut up about this?”  
  
“For now,” Q laughed, moving around to Sherlock’s side of the table.  
  
\--  
  
Bond didn’t get used to living with Sherlock at all. As time went on he found more and more disgusting things in the kitchen, so much so he ended up going down to eat his meals with Mrs Hudson. Sherlock didn’t stop being himself for one second, and if anything became even harder to live with. Any time Bond was watching the TV, Sherlock marched in and either turned it over or simply switched it off, insisting he needed silence for his experiments.  
  
John and Q tried to make things easier for Bond, knowing that if he truly snapped they’d be down one Holmes and the body would never be recovered. John tried his best to keep Sherlock contained in either the kitchen or their room, he even begged Lestrade to find cases for him, just to keep him occupied. Q just played his part as doting boyfriend to ensure Bond never got too annoyed, crawling onto his lap and distracting him whenever Sherlock was being particularly infuriating.  
  
The only thing that truly changed in the Watson/Holmes flat was the way Sherlock treated John. Being subjected to Q and Bond’s overly-affectionate relationship made John crave affection more than ever, and Sherlock became increasingly willing to placate his lover with hugs. One particular evening, Bond and Q were curled up on the sofa, Q’s laptop long abandoned as they murmured to each other, trading languid kisses and running their hands over each other. Sherlock noticed the way John was watching them out of the corner of his eye, a morose expression on his face. Sighing, he dropped his paper down onto the table and pulled his chair closer to John, taking his hands in his own, pulling John’s attention to him.  
  
“Sherlock?”  
  
Sherlock smiled meekly, reaching up to cup John’s cheek. “John, please stop comparing our relationship to that of my brother’s.”  
  
“I-I wasn’t.”  
  
“I know I’m not particularly affectionate, John, but that doesn’t mean I love you any less.”  
  
John’s eyes lit up at the mention of love, it not being a commonly uttered word from Sherlock.  
  
“You know me, better than anyone else. You know I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve, I don’t tell people what they mean to me, if they mean anything at all...”  
  
“I get it, Sherlock. We’ll never be a normal couple, but... it’d be nice to be one sometimes. To do what they do,” he sighed, jerking his head in the direction of Q and Bond. Sherlock sighed too, rubbing his thumbs over the back of John’s work-worn hands.  
  
“What do you want from me, John? Do you want us to hold hands when we go out? Do you want me to kiss you in front of everyone so they know you’re mine? Do you want us to sit here and make out like teenagers who aren’t in control of their hormones?”  
  
“I want all of that, Sherlock. And more. But I’ll happily take whatever you’re willing to give.”  
  
“Even if it’s not very much?”  
  
“Even if it’s not much.”  
  
Sherlock smiled, squeezing John’s hands softly. “Thank you.”  
  
“Though an unprompted hug wouldn’t go amiss once in a while.”  
  
“I’ll do my best.”  
  
John grinned, pulling one of Sherlock’s arms up to loop around his neck. “Good. Now give us a kiss.”  
  
Sherlock didn’t have time to protest as John pulled him in for a warm kiss, curling his arms around his slim waist. He quickly sank into it, slipping his other arm up around John’s neck, angling their faces for a better, deeper kiss. John made a low, happy sound, digging his thumb into the skin just under Sherlock’s hipbone. They pulled apart when Sherlock’s phone went off in his pocket. Glancing over to the sofa, they noticed Bond and Q had disappeared, Sherlock smirking and rolling his eyes as he read the text.  
  
“ _ **Please don’t keep us up all night. Some of us have work in the morning. - Q.**_ ”  
  
His phone vibrated again.  
  
“ _ **Also, I did tell you a little affection went a long way. You can thank me later. - Q**_.”  
  
\--  
  
The following Saturday, John took Bond to the pub to escape the flat, and to include him on one of his and Lestrade’s “lads’ nights”. Bond was extremely enthusiastic, if just to get away from Sherlock for a few hours and to be able to drink quite heavily. Lestrade greeted him with a firm handshake and huge grin, motioning to the booth he and John usually sat in, two cold pints already waiting for them.  
  
“It’s always nice to have a third for these little Sherlock bitch-fests. You’re living with him now, James, how is it?”  
  
Bond glared playfully, curling his fingers around his drink. “You’ve met him, how do you think it is?”  
  
“Is he really still insufferable?”  
  
John nodded, taking a large gulp of his beer. “Even worse. He’s doing it just to annoy James, now. But Felix always knows how to piss him off in retaliation.”  
  
Bond smirked. “Little brother syndrome, anything he does is bound to piss off Sherlock... It’s fantastic.”  
  
“It really is! I’ve never known Sherlock to be silenced so easily, he usually has some form of comeback.”  
  
“Oh boy, I’ve got to see this!” Lestrade chuckled. “Perhaps Felix could join you two on one of your cases.” John smirked.  
  
“Make sure Anderson’s there. He won’t know what’s hit him.”  
  
The three men laughed, and drank, and discussed Sherlock’s bad habits, occasionally throwing in some of Mycroft’s and Q’s bad habits too. They talked about Sherlock’s tendency to hide body parts in strange places and insist it’s for an experiment, or how after days and days of bitching, he probably liked Mayhew better than anyone else currently living at 221b.  
  
After quite a few units of alcohol, they moved on from slagging off their respective boyfriends to singing their praise, sighing about the things they loved about them.  
  
Greg talked about the way Mycroft would give him little shoulder rubs after a particularly stressful day, especially if the stressful day had included Sherlock. How Mycroft would sit in his chair by the fire, the TV playing on low, and Greg would sit between his legs as all the day’s stress was rubbed away.  
  
John explained how behind closed doors, when Sherlock was finally starting to run on empty he could give a limpet a run for it’s money. How Sherlock’s gangly arms would be draped all over him, clinging to him, rubbing his cheek against the side of John’s head, moaning about being bored. How he was never too hot or too cold.  
  
James discussed how Q was constantly clamouring for his attention, always crawling into his lap and curling up like a cat. How if any part of their body could be touching at any time, it would be, whether it’s their feet under the table or their entire bodies being plastered together. He explained how the dangerous nature of their jobs made Q particularly clingy, desperate to spend as much time together, curled up and in love, in case it was their last moment together.  
  
He then went on to explain how his and Q’s affectionate relationship had made John jealous, he and Greg laughing at the idea of a remotely affectionate Sherlock; Greg bursting into giggles at the idea of Sherlock desperately needing cuddles whilst at a crime scene, and octopusing himself around John.  
  
\--  
  
Meanwhile, Sherlock and Q were having a genius’ night in, Q helping Sherlock with his various experiments. Whilst examining the effects of injecting different liquidss into eyeballs, Q pulled out a bottle of vodka, plonking it down on the table before grabbing two glasses.  
  
“They’re out getting pissed and I haven’t drank properly in a long time. I assume you’ll join me?”  
  
Sherlock smirked, reaching over to grab his pen that had rolled away. “I most certainly shall.”  
  
“Playing with chemicals whilst intoxicated, surely one shouldn’t be able to admit to that _not_ being the stupidest thing they’ve done?”  
  
“When we were born we were given the choice of great intelligence, or common sense.”  
  
“Here’s to being a fucking genius!”  
  
Sherlock laughed and knocked back the shot of vodka, shaking out the tingle it sent through his body. Q began refilling their glasses, before stabbing the remains of an eye that had been dropped into a beaker of hydrochloric acid.  
  
“Sherlock, the human eye is essentially a mix of gelatinous, plasma-like protein, so any chemical you mix it with, however acidic will always dissolve it. The same with any alkali. The only remotely interchangeable result will be because of the sclera, and even then it doesn’t take much to dissolve that either -- one-mil of cartilage isn’t hard to erode.”  
  
“You never were very interested in Chemistry, were you, Felix?”  
  
“Or Biology. And the human eye is such a primitive organ, so full of fault.”  
  
“Still bearing a grudge?”  
  
Q snorted, knocking back his drink. “Without my glasses I’m as good as blind, I’ll forever hold a grudge.”  
  
Sherlock chuckled. “I’ll swap you an eye for part of that wonderful eidetic memory of yours.”  
  
Q smirked. “Certainly. The moment it becomes physically possible to transplant working brain cells, we’ll set a surgery date.”  
  
“Fantastic. Then I’ll have to stop deleting things.”  
  
“Yes, John told me about the solar system gaff.”  
  
“No one needs to know if the Earth goes around the Sun.”  
  
“I remember, you never were one for Physics, were you.”  
  
“Physics is boring.”  
  
“Physics is beautiful. Everyone is bound by the laws of physics. Unlike Biology.”  
  
Sherlock scoffed. “Biology formed us, Felix. It makes us who we are, what we are. Our genetic makeup, the way our bodies react to light and touch-”  
  
“Boring. The creation of the universe-”  
  
“Even more boring. Stop harping on about the universe and pass me the lemon juice.”  
  
Q sighed, pushing the glass forward. “It’ll dissolve.”  
  
“Maybe. Maybe not.”  
  
“It will.”  
  
\--  
  
James, John, and Greg were halfway to being completely drunk, still giggling about their respective partners. Greg was hunched over the table, laughing about Mycroft’s love of cake. John and James didn’t get what was funny but laughed along anyway.  
  
“Oh, oh, John! Tell James about you and Sherlock did anything remotely sexual whilst sober!” Lestrade laughed, swirling his beer in his glass. Bond looked over at John, an amused look on his face.  
  
“No, that’s not fair. Sherlock wouldn’t want me-”  
  
“Piss off, you told me! Come on!”  
  
Bond grinned. “Come on, John.”  
  
John sighed, taking a large gulp of his drink. “Fine. But bear in mind he was a virgin before I... Before I well... Had him.”  
  
Bond snorted loudly, trying to hide his grin behind his hand. “Really?! How old is he?!”  
  
“Yeah yeah, we don’t all need sex to function.”  
  
“But sex is... amazing!”  
  
John chuckled. “Yeah he knows that now! And he never had anyone to try it with, because you know... he has such a wonderful personality.”  
  
“That’s true... Anyway, go on.”  
  
“So... um... I’d just gotten his pants off-”  
  
“Oh God, how graphic is this going to be?”  
  
Lestrade began giggling. “Don’t worry, James. They don’t actually make it to the graphic bits!”  
  
John rolled his eyes, continuing his story. "So we were doing... things, and I'd just gotten his pants off and he was... well... pretty close. I was... um... just abouts to go down on him and..."  
  
Lestrade continued giggling as John trailed off, eventually getting impatient. "Sherlock jizzed in his eye!"  
  
James hunched over the table laughing, Lestrade finding it hard to breathe whilst John sighed, shaking his head. After five minutes of the two men cackling, John had enough.

"It's not that funny, guys. Seriously."

“Are you kidding?! It’s hilarious!” Lestrade cried, trying to gulp in deep breaths whilst still cackling. Bond casually wiped a tear that was threatening to fall as he regained his posture, pointedly not looking at John, knowing if he did he’d start laughing again.

“Are you telling me you two don’t have any embarrassing stories of your own?”

Lestrade shook his head, finally getting his giggles under control. “Nothing like that!”

“Me neither,” Bond shrugged. “Although, there was one time Q and I were going at it in his office and our boss walked in.”

Lestrade gaped whilst John began laughing.  
  
“Oh my God, what happened?!”  
  
Bond smirked. “Nothing. Luckily I’m a pain in the arse enough for him to just roll his eyes and tell me he had a case for me when we were finished.”  
  
Lestrade began cackling again. “He really didn’t care?!”  
  
“Well obviously he cared a little bit. Not enough to punish me. Though Q withholding sex for a week after was punishment enough.”  
  
“Come on, Greg, your turn,” John chuckled, taking a quick gulp of his beer. Lestrade stared at the wall opposite, deep in thought until he suddenly began giggling to himself.  
  
“Okay, it’s not very good because... well... Myc is so proper and always in control of the situation. But um... He’s a bit of a screamer in bed, is our Mycroft, and... we’d taken a weekend away and just secluded ourselves in our hotel room and... well, long story short, we got quite a few complaints from reception about us being too loud, and if we weren’t respectful to the other guests they’d have to throw us out. I think Mycroft then pulled rank and told them it’d be the last thing they ever did.”  
  
Instead of laughing, John stared at his drink like it had personally offended him. “Wow... Really regretting asking now.”  
  
Bond laughed, giving John a playful slap on the shoulder. “If I now have to live with knowing Sherlock came in your eye, I’m sure you can live with knowing Mycroft squeals like a pig.”  
  
“Not like a pig!” Lestrade argued. “He’s just... loud. Anyway, James, you have sex at work?!”  
  
“More often then Q will ever let on. He loves it. He loves the thrill of getting caught.”  
  
It was John’s turn to gape at Bond. “But... he’s so quiet!”  
  
“It’s always the quiet ones,” Lestrade chuckled. Bond smirked, gulping down the rest of his drink before standing up.  
  
“My round?”  
  
\--  
  
Q and Sherlock had retired from the kitchen and experiments to the living room, sprawled messily on the sofa, giggling and drinking. They’d finished the vodka and come out relatively sober, and had moved on to gin.  
  
“Being taken from behind is just... better.”  
  
Sherlock nodded. “I completely agree.”  
  
“I mean, it’s easier to do anyway. It hits all the right spots...”  
  
“It means I don’t have to see John’s face when he starts concentrating really hard.”  
  
Q smirked. “Is it one of those-”  
  
“Yes. Deep scowl, lines, very angry eyes. It’s rather off putting.”  
  
“I can imagine. James’ face is like that most of the time so it makes no difference to me. My problem is that he sometimes talks in bed. And if there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s talking in the bedroom.”  
  
Sherlock giggled. “John does too, sometimes. But he doesn’t realise he’s doing it; it’s usually just a string of swear words.”  
  
“Oh no, with James it’s full sentences, about how I’m a naughty boy or something. Excuse me, I’m one of the best behaved people in England, maybe even the world!”  
  
“Having sex at work in your office doesn’t class as being well behaved.”  
  
“So long as our work gets done M doesn’t care... Obviously I’m sure he’d prefer if we didn’t but... what’s he going to do to stop us?”  
  
Sherlock giggled again, taking a quick sip of his drink. The brothers sat in a strange mixture of silence and breathy giggles, thinking of what to say next.  
  
“When John comes, it’s like it’s the first time ever. He has this... surprised... high-pitched whine...”  
  
Q burst out laughing, nearly spilling his drink over himself when Sherlock tried to do an impression before bursting into a fit of giggles himself.  
  
“With James it’s like we’re in porn; it’s like ‘ _God, yeah! That’s it! Fuck!_ ’ I have half a mind to just stop everything and leave when he does that.”  
  
“You need to train him.”  
  
Q sighed. “I know! But how?! I’m usually too busy having a frankly amazing orgasm to try and nip it in the bud.”  
  
Sherlock paused, running a finger around the rim of his glass. “Leave it with me, I’ll think of something.”  
  
“So... have you ever let John tie you up?”  
  
“It’s not that I haven’t let him, I’m just having a hard time persuading him to do it.”  
  
“Compromise. Make a deal; you give him more affection, he strings you up and shags you into next week... Because I have to say: it’s fantastic.”  
  
“I had a feeling it would be. John’s problem is he’s too... What’s the term?”  
  
“Vanilla. James is the opposite. Sometimes it’d be nice to just... have sex and not fuck in some new kinky way he’s come up with... Not that the sex isn’t great, because it really is.”  
  
“Perhaps whilst they’re out talking about us, they’ll give each other tips.”  
  
Q chuckled. “You know, Sherlock. I never thought I’d see the day where you and I get together and talk sex.”  
  
Sherlock smirked. “It’s strange. But a good strange.”  
  
“It’s almost like you’re actually human.”  
  
“Piss off, Felix.”  
  
\--  
  
When John and Bond finally stumbled home, they stopped on the middle of the stairs, shushing each other to hear what Q and Sherlock were saying about them.  
  
“I’ve seen him, heard him on missions... and the way he is with the women he has to seduce... it’s just... different. It’s almost clinical. It’s the same lines, the same smirk, the same sexual positions! I can tell he’s just going through the motions, I know he doesn’t truly enjoy it.”  
  
“And he’s not like that with you?”  
  
“No! I mean, when he’s not acting like a porn star he’s so... wonderful. He has this smile that you can barely see unless you know it’s there. And he smiles with his eyes! Not just his lips. He’s always touching me, always letting people know we’re together. For someone working in the secret service he’s really lousy at actually keeping secrets. I think when I finally agreed to go out with him he ran to the top of the building and screamed it out loud.”  
  
“Finally agreed?”  
  
“Oh I’m not that easy, Sherlock! He spent a good couple of months flirting with me.”  
  
Sherlock chuckled. “Why did it take so long?”  
  
“He had a reputation. I wanted to know he was genuine. The big hint came when M himself came down to Q branch and told me off for making Bond miserable and to just have go out with him already.”  
  
John began chuckling on the stairs, earning himself a sharp elbow in the chest and a scathing look from Bond.  
  
“I must admit, it’s nice not having John complain to people when they call us a couple, insisting he’s not gay.”  
  
“No one believed him for a second.”  
  
“Even his girlfriends.”  
  
“It doesn’t help when you chase them away and drape yourself over him.”  
  
“I did no such thing. I just... ensured they’d leave promptly and never come back. They weren’t good enough for him anyway. All boring, not even remotely intellectually stimulating.”  
  
“But I’m sure they wouldn’t leave heads in the fridge.”  
  
Sherlock scoffed. “He hates the heads now, but I’m sure if he left me for some boring teacher he’d soon start to miss coming home and wondering what body part he’d find next to the cheese.”  
  
Q chuckled. “I know I’m going to miss it when we finally move back.”  
  
“I’m going to miss irritating your pet.”  
  
“He’s going to miss being irritated... I do wish he’d stop lingering on the stairs though.”  
  
Sherlock hummed in agreement. “I would have thought he’d be more stealthy. I do hope we’re providing enough entertainment for him and John.”  
  
John huffed loudly, stomping up the rest of the stairs. “All right, all right. Well done genius’, you caught us.”  
  
Bond followed, smirking when he noticed the two empty bottles of alcohol and the flush in Q’s cheeks. “Have a good night, boys?”  
  
“It was eye-opening for sure,” Sherlock smirked, trying to pull himself to his feet.  
  
“My God, are you drunk?!” John asked, rushing to his lover’s side.  
  
“We may have had a few drinks, could you help me up?”  
  
Q chuckled, reaching out to take Bond’s hand, pulling him down next to him. Bond smiled, wrapping his arms around him protectively. John huffed, finally pulling Sherlock to his feet.  
  
“James, your boyfriend is a bad influence.”  
  
“I know. Isn’t he wonderful?”  
  
Q smiled brilliantly at Bond, putting his glass down and curling up on Bond’s lap; John smiled down at them, dragging Sherlock through the flat to their room.  
  
\--  
  
Bond had a rare day off from MI-6, not entirely thrilled to be spending it in the company of Sherlock, and not in his own flat with just the cat. He hoped that Sherlock would at least be distracted by some experiment, or that Lestrade would call with a case, or Molly would call with an interesting corpse; and that he’d get to slump in front of the TV with a glass of anything alcoholic and a book. He could hear Sherlock making various noises down in the kitchen, obviously having no intention of leaving the flat. Groaning quietly, Bond rolled over and decided to have a few more hours sleep.  
  
He was woken again to a loud clattering downstairs. Sighing, he ran a hand over his face, listening as the clattering continued, wondering how much trouble he’d get into if he finally snapped and punched Sherlock in the face. When he heard Mayhew let out a loud and pained yowl, he decided he’d had enough, throwing the covers from his body. He’d just pulled his trousers on, ready to stomp downstairs when he heard a voice he didn’t recognise.  
  
“We’ve finally got you alone Sherlock. Outnumbered. Your precious doctor isn’t here to save you now.”  
  
Silently, Bond yanked open his bedside table drawer, pulling out his Walther.  
  
“Yes, well done indeed. Still idiots though, I see.”  
  
Two men laughed, Bond was sure he heard Sherlock get punched in the face.  
  
“Do you know what we’re going to do to you-”  
  
“You’re not going to bore me to death with a monologue, are you? I’m sure you sat up all night practising, but if you’re going to kill me can you do it now please? I’d rather not suffer through whatever smug speech you may have prepared for the occasion.”  
  
Bond silently tiptoed down the stairs, poised and ready for action in case he was spotted. As he came up to the kitchen door, he could see Sherlock in the living room, tied to a chair, a deep gash on his cheek.  
  
“You’ll shut up and listen to what I have to say!”  
  
Sherlock sighed. “Boring. But if I must. There’s four of you and one of me, although I do still outnumber you in intelligence. You, in the kitchen by the fridge; it’s obvious you don’t get much exercise, asthma, heart arrhythmia, slow, you’re clearly just a grunt, no real use to you at all. And you walk with a limp to your right, fractured leg, barely healed, it’d be a pity if someone broke it.”  
  
Bond smirked, realising what Sherlock was doing.  
  
“As for you, sprawled on the sofa; I daresay you actually have your uses. Small, quick, you brought a knife to a gun fight, you use your speed to your advantage, blindly hoping whoever’s pulling the trigger has a bad aim. For your sake I hope they do.  
  
“Man standing four feet in front of me, peak of physical condition, five-ten, I’d estimate about a hundred-and-ninety pounds? Bruised knuckles, a fighter, but you have a gun badly concealed in the back of your jeans just in case.  
  
“And my captor, stood just behind the living room door. Obviously there’s no use for you at all, seeing as the most damage you did was kick the cat -- that was a mistake by the way. Five-six, hundred-and-twenty pounds, thinning hair, bags under your eyes, your hands are twitching, you’re tired. Perhaps you did sit up all night learning your speech. Seeing as you went to so much effort it’d be rude of me to not let you talk.”  
  
The flat fell silent for a few moments.  
  
“What was all that about?”  
  
Sherlock shrugged as best he could considering he was tied to a chair. “Free show. Now do go on, what are you going to do to me?”  
  
Bond quickly ran his plan through his head, nodding to himself before silently stalking forwards. He kicked the living room door open, sending one of the men flying across the room, quickly shooting the man sprawled on the sofa in the leg and shoulder. The ‘fighter’ jumped into action, launching himself at Bond, barely missing as he ducked underneath his arms, hurrying to the kitchen to take out the grunt, kicking him sharply in the right shin, sending him screaming to the floor.  
  
The fighter launched himself at Bond again, this time grabbing his wrist, slamming him against the fridge. They grappled with each other, throwing punches, Bond’s gun was sent flying across the kitchen. With a knee to the groin and right hook to the gut and nose, he too finally fell, Bond pulling the gun from the back of his jeans.  
  
The final man had picked up Bond’s gun, training it at Sherlock’s head, glaring at Bond.  
  
“Who the fuck are you?!”  
  
Bond sighed, wiping his hands on a dish cloth, casually strolling towards the living room.  
  
“Stop! Or I’ll blow his head away!”  
  
Sherlock rolled his eyes. “This is all very boring.”  
  
“Shut up! Who are you?!”  
  
Bond shrugged casually, leaning against the doorframe. “No one really. Who are you?”  
  
“No! Tell me who you are! Or Sherlock’s brains will be decorating the wall!”  
  
“Mrs Hudson wouldn’t appreciate that at all, think of the mess.”  
  
Sherlock smirked. The man’s hand was visibly shaking.  
  
“Although you’d definitely be doing me a favour. In all honesty, I’m just a bit upset I won’t be the one to pull the trigger. Sherlock’s a true pain in the arse. You don’t find pricks like him nowadays.”  
  
“I mean it!”  
  
“Oh I don’t doubt that for a second. You go ahead and pull the trigger. In fact, let’s have a competition. You shoot, I shoot...”  
  
The man’s hand began trembling even more. “What are you talking about?!”  
  
Bond sighed, cocking back the hammer on the gun he’d taken, aiming casually at the mans feet, firing a warning shot, aimed to miss. The man jumped, letting out a startled yelp.  
  
“Now it’s your turn.”  
  
Scrunching his eyes shut, the gun still aimed at Sherlock’s temple, the man pulled the trigger, letting out a confused sound when nothing happened.  
  
“This is becoming increasingly tedious. Can you shoot me already?!” Sherlock sighed. Bond smirked.  
  
“The... the gun’s jammed... it’s not...”  
  
“It worked fine for me.”  
  
Bond took a few strides over to the man, not even blinking when the gun was fired several times at his chest, nothing happening. The gun was snatched from his hand, Bond throwing the other over his shoulder. Still smirking, he aimed the gun down at the man’s leg, firing a bullet straight into his thigh, sending him to the floor, screaming and clutching his leg.  
  
“See, there. Works fine.”  
  
Sherlock nodded his approval. “Tie them up, James. Ring Lestrade.”  
  
Bond nodded. “Will do... Today was supposed to be my day off, too.”  
  
He did as instructed, finding a length of rope in one of the kitchen cupboards, tying the men together, gagging them with a strip of duct tape over their mouths. For his own entertainment, he silenced Sherlock too, collapsing down into John’s armchair whilst ringing Lestrade.  
  
“Sherlock?”  
  
“It’s James, actually, Greg. There’s been an incident at the flat, bring some of the finest officers you have, and a van.”  
  
“Is Sherlock okay?”  
  
“Sherlock’s fine. He’s just a bit tied up at the moment. No hurry though, I’ve got them incapacitated.”  
  
“You didn’t kill-”  
  
“No, only injured. In your own time. I’ll see you later.”  
  
He hung up the phone, grinning over at Sherlock. Sherlock glared back, struggling against his bonds, trying to say something that sounded angry but was muffled by the duct tape.  
  
“Today might be a good day yet,” Bond grinned, reaching for the TV remote and turning it on before meandering through to the kitchen to make some breakfast. He’d just finished when Lestrade burst in with five policemen, taken aback by the mess of men tied up and bloody.  
  
“James?!”  
  
“You’re here. Those four, broke in, tied Sherlock to a chair, tried to bore him to death.”  
  
“...Why haven’t you untied Sherlock?”  
  
“Why would I? It’s my day off, I don’t need him ruining it. It wasn’t even the thugs that shut him up.”  
  
Lestrade took another look around the room, smirking when Sherlock began ranting as best he could, struggling again. “I see your point... I suppose I should ring John, let him know what’s happened. Everything else okay?”  
  
“Fine. Fancy some tea?”  
  
“Oh I’d love some.”  
  
Sherlock began shouting, struggling even more. Lestrade laughed, following Bond to the kitchen, ruffling Sherlock’s hair as he passed.  
  
The quiet of the flat was ruined when John arrived, shouting about the state of everything, pointing out patches of blood and bullet holes. He fussed over Sherlock, seeing to the gash on his cheek, just about to rip the tape from his mouth when Bond’s hand clamped over his wrist.  
  
“No. Leave it.”  
  
“Are you crazy?! I need to see he’s okay!”  
  
Bond rolled his eyes. “He’s fine. But most importantly, he’s quiet!”  
  
John looked over to Lestrade sat in the kitchen; cup of tea in his hand a large grin on his face. His eyes flicked over to Bond’s smirk, before looking at Sherlock, who was desperately trying to glare everyone to death.  
  
“I can’t leave him-”  
  
“You can. You really can.”  
  
John frowned, his fingers twitching indecisively. “It’ll just be worse the longer you leave it.”  
  
“I’m very willing to deal with the consequences. Just think about this for a minute...”  
  
John looked between the two men before sighing and reaching for the duct tape. “You’re not the one who’ll get shouted and you’re not the one who’ll miss out on sex.”  
  
Bond sighed as John tore the duct tape from Sherlock’s mouth, slinking back into the kitchen as Sherlock began his rant.  
  
“It was nice whilst it lasted,” Lestrade muttered. Bond nodded, staring down at his cup of tea. Sherlock was untied and Lestrade and Bond were scolded for leaving him bound and gagged.  
  
“You’re welcome for me saving your life,” Bond sighed, staring up at Sherlock blankly. Sherlock stopped ranting, staring back at Bond with a blank look of his own.  
  
“Thank you, James, for saving Sherlock. He’s very grateful,” John said, elbowing Sherlock in the arm. Sherlock nodded.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
Bond shrugged. “I don’t want to see Q or John sad over your death... And if anyone kills you, it’s going to be me.”  
  
“I think you’ll have to get in line, John’s expressed a wish to be my cause of death.”  
  
John smirked. “He’s right. Anyway, I need to get back to work... Don’t you have a job to be doing, Greg?”  
  
Lestrade sighed. “Yeah... I’ll drop you off. See you James. Sherlock.”  
  
Once John and Lestrade had left, Sherlock gingerly sat himself down opposite Bond, watching him analytically.  
  
“...Thank you, James. Honestly. I can’t... begin to think how it would affect John if I died... You are indeed, very noble and... Felix is lucky to have you.”  
  
“Is this you giving me your approval? ...Again?”  
  
“This is me... Apologising... for being intolerable. And perhaps even express a wish to... befriend you?”  
  
Bond’s eyes widened. “Oh really?”  
  
“My talk with my brother was eye opening, to say the least. You make him happy, which automatically wins you my approval. But he speaks so highly of you; in his eyes you can do no wrong. It’s obvious how much he loves you, and how much you love him too. John spoke with me, about the things you told him when you went drinking together. He told me what you said about Felix... about how much you... you need him in your life. It’s obvious you’d never hurt him. I trust you with him.  
  
“As for your relationship with John... He needs more friends. I’m a lot to deal with and he needs an escape. I’m glad it’s you he’s found a friend in.”  
  
Bond smiled. “Honestly Sherlock, you’re not all too bad. I’m not saying you’re not an arsehole, because you are... but you’re Q’s... Felix’s big brother, and I know he won’t admit it but he looks up to you; having your approval is a pretty big deal, and I’m glad I have it. As for being your friend, I think both John and Felix will be thrilled by it.”  
  
“Well, I’ve spoken enough today.”  
  
Sherlock suddenly rushed from the kitchen to his room, the door slamming shut behind him. Bond smirked, deciding to go watch some TV in peace.  
  
That evening, John and Sherlock were curled up on the sofa together, whispering sweet nothings in each other’s ears. Bond was sat in Sherlock’s armchair, not paying attention to the TV, his hand lost in Q’s hair who was sat between his legs on the floor, tapping at his laptop.  
  
“I told you living with them wouldn’t be so bad after a while,” Q muttered, dropping his head back to smile up at Bond. Bond smiled, stroking his fingers over his lover’s cheek.  
  
“It only took four men breaking in and attempting to kill your brother for us to find some middle ground.”  
  
“Well, you know how Sherlock is, he does detest normality.”  
  
“How are we going to get back to normal when we go back?”  
  
“I’ll hide body parts in the kitchen once in a while.”  
  
Bond laughed, leaning down to press a soft kiss to Q’s lips. “Don’t you dare.”

**Author's Note:**

> Quick note: the cat is fine! If anything he was just a little put out. He wasn't booted across the room, just given a little kick to make him run away. NO CATS WERE SERIOUSLY INJURED IN THIS STORY!


End file.
